


Where Gulls Are Kings

by wtfkovah



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Eventual Smut, First Meetings, Fluff, Historical Fantasy, Light Angst, M/M, Mercreatures, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Original Mythology, Romance, merman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:32:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29116800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfkovah/pseuds/wtfkovah
Summary: Seungcheol, a decorated officer and Captain of the Avenging Sentinel, gets more than he bargained for when he sinks a Pirate ship and rescues its only cargo.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Comments: 44
Kudos: 206





	1. The Prisoner

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 Playlist  
> [Gustav Holst - St Paul's Suite](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pRRtmrjWsPE)

The crew of Poseidon’s Sabre fight to the bitter end. 

It shouldn’t come as a surprise, seeing as each and every one of them are lawless men, destined for the gallows at a dozen ports regardless of how amicable their surrender, but the sheer bloodthirsty desperation at which they fight is alarming, even to a captain of Seungcheol’s experience.

They refuse to yield despite their dwindling numbers, never make an attempt to launch their boats or retreat to the roundhouse once the deck is overrun, and even their Pirate Captain refuses to spare his men a gruesome death and relinquish his sword until someone pries it out of his bloody, severed hand. 

It matters not in the end. They’ve been out maneuvered from the beginning and significantly outgunned—a 28-gun Galleon to Seungcheol’s 44-gun Man o’ war—and by the time the last shots are fired and swords are sheathed, the stench of death and smoke is choking the air and _Poseidon’s Sabre_ is taking on water at a steady clip.

“Pirates never cease to amuse me,” Jeonghan snorts, joining him on the forecastle, the ship’s log in his hands, “I always pegged them for a savvy lot, but they’re never carrying anything more than a few sacks of grain and a rusty spyglass. I mean, where’s all the plunder? I have yet to find a single chest of gold aboard a pirate vessel.”

“And you won’t,” Seungcheol says, watching the group of soldiers he commands dissolve into little pockets to search the slowly sinking wreckage. “Hoarding gold just makes them a target for other pirates, and despite what you may have read, they’re far too practical to ever consider _burying_ any of it. Normally, they’ll divide the loot amongst themselves almost as soon as they steal it. It keeps the crew loyal.”

Jeonghan carefully half-turns and regards him aslant. “I suppose that suggests some _savviness_ on their part. I just assumed with how desperately they fought, they’d have something more worthwhile onboard.”

That _is_ certainly the question of the hour.

Seungcheol glances around discreetly, shading his eyes with his hat as he gazes upon the rows of bodies laid out across the deck. Of the twenty-three pirates onboard, they only managed to secure a single surrender: the ship’s cook, found hiding under a table in the galley. The rest eagerly fell to their swords and yet…the ship’s hold is practically _empty_ , devoid of all the loot a pirate crew would usually fight tooth and nail for.

Which poses one very good question: what the _hell_ were they attempting to defend?

“Astute deduction Mr Yoon—” Seungcheol begins, scowling up at the reefed sails. Any attempt at continuing the conversation is belayed by the arrival of the Bo’sun, Junhui, who is beet red with exertion and uncharacteristically out of breath.

Seungcheol cuts him a glance. “What is it?”

“There’s a prisoner below deck, Captain,” Junhui pants, “A young man.”

Seungcheol frowns, all the more confounded.

It’s not unusual for Pirates to take prisoners, but when they do, they _would_ have been listed in the ship’s log. Jeonghan hasn’t made any moves to send someone down to look for them however and judging by the way he’s now flicking urgently through the pages, it’s news to him.

“Well, release him and escort him over.”

Junhui clears his throat, nodding and clasping his hands behind his back to indicate he’d received the message.

“Aye-aye Captain. Mr Kim is already seeing to it. Uh, only that…he’s having a bit of a problem _convincing_ him.”

Seungcheol's brows draw together. “What do you mean?”

Junhui shrugs, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “Well, he’s a bit… _wild_.”

* * *

Seungcheol follows Junhui below deck into the darkness of the crew quarters, weaving between hammocks until they come to the galley, then further down to what appears to be a caged cell tucked away at the stern of the ship, a deck below the Captain’s cabin.

He can’t get a clear look inside with all the men surrounding the bars, but he can hear the commotion as he approaches and he steps up to the cell door, Mingyu steps out to meet him, holding a bloodied rag against his hand.

Seungcheol takes the sight in, brow furrowing. “What happened?”

Mingyu jerks his head into the room. 

“Little shit bit me, and _hard_ too. I was only trying to remove his chains, but he won’t have any of it. Won’t let anyone near him. And he hissed at me.”

Seungcheol suppresses the instinct to roll his eyes and shoulders the man aside to get a look inside the cell.

The sight that greets him though is far from what he expected.

In the centre of the cell is a small, furious looking lad, chained to a ring in the floor by his neck, arms and ankles. His tattered clothing is too large to be his own, and his long hair has formed a nest of unruly curls atop his head. The wretched thing is also emaciated beyond what should have been survivable, yet he keeps up a steady stream of yelps and weak snaps in everyone’s direction, putting Seungcheol in mind of a cat puffing up in anger.

Seungcheol can’t imagine why he’s being held prisoner at all. For one—he’s too small to pose a threat, and for another, he seems to be completely feral, not attempting to speak up beyond a few incomprehensible grunts. Even the most savage of pirates are at least capable of words.

A Stowaway then—Seungcheol suspects, unfortunate enough to pick the wrong ship.

“Careful lads, he’s dangerous.” Mingyu warns, as two of the men attempt to circle closer.

Seungcheol divides a look between his giant of a quartermaster and the tiny creature in the corner, hissing like a feral kitten and tries not to let his amusement show. Mingyu wouldn't take kindly to being laughed at. 

“ _Dangerous_? He’s _half_ your size Mr Kim.”

Mingyu pulls a face, one of his mock-offended expressions, “Aye, but he’s slippery fast. I took my eyes off him for barely a second and he sunk his teeth in me.”

And, well. Seungcheol has to give him that one.

The boy more than makes up for his small stature with lightning-fast reflexes. Even weighed down by those heavy chains, he’s clawing and snarling at anyone who dares come close, hissing so violently, even some of the braver crewmen are giving him a wide berth.

He’s far from posing a serious danger though. Seungcheol knows his behaviour isn’t reactive—it’s merely instinctive; self-preservation from a perceived threat. He’s dwarfed by the men around him and terrifyingly aware of it. So scared they’re going to harm him he has no choice but to lash out first.

Seungcheol’s stomach sinks thinking of the heavy abuse he must have faced at the hands of his captors.

“That’s enough. Give him some room.” He orders, entering the cell, watching the effect of his presence ripple through the men, bringing quiet in its wake.

The prisoner quiets a little too, retreating to a small pile of hay in the corner and crouching down as if he were trying to burrow into it. The tremor in his muscles, the tightness that speaks of barely-leashed violence has drained out of him, but he still watches Seungcheol’s approach warily, a wild gleam in his eye; fear, rage, or perhaps just blind animal ferocity.

Seungcheol clasps his hands behind his back—then carefully rethinks his approach. He holds his hands up instead, palms out, trying to convey his harmlessness, then reaches one out slowly towards the younger man.

“You’re frightened, and I completely understand, but I assure you we mean you no harm. We only wish to move you off this vessel before it sinks.”

The boy stares past his outstretched hand, bright eyes fixing on his face with an intensity that is unnerving from so fragile a figure. It seems like an eternity has passed before the boy finally decides to reach back, and Seungcheol gently pulls him up onto his feet, getting a close look at him for the first time.

He _is_ young, but older than he appeared at first glance; Seungcheol judges him to be twenty at the outset even though the top of his head barely comes up to Seungcheol’s chin and there’s barely an ounce of muscle left on his slight frame. But his eyes are bright and his face – _lovely_ , rather. Though currently one wouldn’t be able to tell through the layers of dirt and grime.

The boy seems to be scrutinizing him in turn, head tilting this way and that, watching him with heavy-lidded attention. Then his gaze seems to fixate on something on Seungcheol’s uniform that has a spark of interest glittering in his eye.

“Cap-tan?” He says, a little disjointedly, then actually straightens up his back to salute him.

It would be a mockery of the gesture from any other man, pushing the edges of disrespect, but from this wild, skittish creature, it’s quite nearly endearing.

It’s clear he’s trying his best to emulate something he’s seen before. 

Seungcheol lets out a bark of laughter that surprises them both. The boy flinches back, but only for a moment, then he’s shuffling closer again, with a smile so startled and sweet that Seungcheol can’t help but smile back.

“Well…that was unexpected,” He chuckles softly, “But uh, very courteous of you, nevertheless. _Thank you_.” He offers a stiff little bow, trying to cover his embarrassment and discreetly gestures for Mingyu to step back in.

“Now, how about we get you out of those heavy chains?”

The boy makes an eager, hopeful noise and offers up his hands.


	2. The Doctor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 Playlist  
> [Gustav Holst - The Planets, Op. 32 - 3. Mercury, the Winged Messenger](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wYtJ4RA3V4o)

“It’s very fine piece. Excellent craftmanship.” Seungcheol muses, studying every inch of the object in his grasp. He is no particular _connoisseur_ of mechanical devices, but this piece does hold a particular cleverness to it...even if he has no earthy idea what it actually _does_.

In all honesty, he had been hoping Jisoo would be forthcoming with an explanation, so he wouldn't have to ask, but alas...

“Alright. What the hell is it?”

Jisoo spares him a brief, blinking glance, “It’s a _Cryptex_ , Captain. One of the men found it when they were searching the Pirate Captain’s cabin. Surely you must have seen one before?”

Seungcheol fixes his gaze back on the cylinder in his hands, brows drawing together as he examines it anew. It’s not a design he’s familiar with; the case is silver on the outside, silver and mother-of-pearl, with a rotating dial mechanism fastened to the top, and now that he knows what to look for, through the glass window in the centre, he can just about see the rolls of parchment sealed inside. 

“I’ve seen several variations of the Cryptex, but never one this… _elaborate_.”

“It’s a much older model than the ones we use,” says Jisoo, turning back to him, a thoughtful shade to his voice. “This particular design has been out of circulation for some time now, but it’s still considered the most secure vessel for concealing sensitive information. See that vial under the glass? It’s filled with Vitriolic acid, which will disperse if the mechanism is forced open, destroying the parchments inside. If we have any hope of seeing what’s inside, we’ll need the precise combination to open it.”

Jeonghan readily responds with his usual wryness, bending low to inspect the device for himself. “Shame the Pirate Captain was so eager to _die_. Now we’ll never know what’s inside.”

Seungcheol hums thoughtfully, thumbing the edge of the device where an inscription seems to have been crudely scratched off, concealing all traces of its previous owner. 

“I very much doubt this belonged to him Jeonghan,” He offers finally, setting the Cryptex aside for later perusal. “I’m certain he stole it, just as he did everything else on his ship. But from whom, however, we’ll need to determine.”

Jeonghan begins to nod, but they are all distracted by the appearance of Mingyu, who comes thumping his way into the Captain’s cabin without so much as a knock.

“Apologies for the intrusion _Cap-tan_ , but Dr Jeon is in dire need of your assistance.”

Seungcheol stares him down with a disapproving look. “Is that so? Forgive me Mr Kim, I wasn’t aware that I possessed the relevant medical expertise to warrant such a request.”

Mingyu slouches against the door in that way only he can get away with, “You don’t—but it seems you _do_ have an uncanny ability to gentle feral prisoners that would really come in handy right now. Unless of course, you’re _happy_ for the whelp to gut our dear doctor with a cutlass?”

Seungcheol’s straightens, spine stiff as a board. “A _cutlass_?” he repeats, not sure if he heard him, not sure if Mingyu is joking. 

Mingyu grunts, the corner of his mouth twitching in something that might have been a smile if he wasn't so tired. “Yeah—he’s a sprightly little thing, swiped it out of one of the men’s scabbards as they were trying to restrain him to the bed. Now he’s waving it around like a maniac, yelping _Cap-tan, Captan!_ I tried to calm him down, tried to talk some sense into him, but then he snapped his teeth at me and I remembered what happened the _last_ time I tried to help him.”

Seungcheol mutters a curse and heaves up off his seat, his stride carrying out of the captain’s cabin and across the deck divorced from his prior responsibilities.

The wild captive had turned out to be quite a tame little creature once Seungcheol had released him from his restraints, happily following him out of the cell and off the ship without protest. By all accounts, restraining him should _not_ be necessary, but when Seungcheol bursts into Dr Jeon’s surgery, he finds the boy in much the same state as he found him: hissing and snarling and lashing out at everyone around him.

Only now he’s gotten hold of a great big bloody knife to do his bidding.

“Stop.” Seungcheol barks, aimed at the two crewmen attempting to apprehend him, then in a more placating tone, “Now, there’s need for that pet. Put it down please.”

The boy tapers off into a low, rumbling growl, then quiets completely. He’s still scowling, but when Seungcheol steps forward to relieve him of the sabre, he lets it slip from his grasp unchallenged and scurries off into a darkened corner.

“Finally!” Dr Jeon grumbles, poking his head up from where he’d been cowering behind his desk. “I’m not sure what he thought I was _intending_ to do, but I assure you I was merely attempting to check his vitals.”

Seungcheol drags his fingers through his hair, teeth clenched in agitation.

“He’s been held captive by Pirates for god knows how long Doctor,” He says, tossing the sword back to its hapless owner, “If you corner him, if you attempt to _restrain_ him, he’s going to assume you mean him harm.”

An appropriately contrite expression crosses the doctor's face. “Point taken. But if you’d be so kind as to fetch him Captain, I’d like to get to work. Your latest conquest has left me with many patients to see.”

Unfortunately, it’s easier said than done.

Dr Jeon’s surgery is a chaotic mess of bedsits and tables and hammocks, and the boy is small enough to conceal himself very effectively amongst it all. Seungcheol eventually spots him hiding under one of the desks, collecting a bundle of grubby rags, and when he squats down to get a better look at what he’s up to, he realises the boy’s piling them all in the corner, trying to build himself a new nest. 

That makes Seungcheol’s throat go dry. He reaches out and rests his hand on the boy’s shoulder—cautiously, unsure of his welcome. “Come on out, nobody is going to try and restrain you again.”

The boy looks up at Seungcheol, then past him to where Dr Jeon is waiting and makes a noise in the back of his throat, something between a growl and whine. He’s clearly anxious of his new surroundings, of all the sharp, shiny instruments hanging on the walls. Or perhaps his captivity has left him wary of small, enclosed spaces, unable to tell the difference between a leer and a smile and uncertain of who he can trust. Inexplicably, he seems to take some comfort in Seungcheol’s presence, and though Seungcheol knows he’s done little to earn such regard, he can’t help but be charmed when the boy abandons his nest and crawls out. 

Dismissing the guards from the surgery, Seungcheol hooks an ankle through a chair leg and drags it closer to the examination table.

“See, it’s just you and I here now,” He smiles warmly, taking a seat, “Come, sit and let the good doctor examine you.” He pats the bed, meaning for the boy to take a seat there, only for the boy to shuffle over and drop unceremoniously into his lap.

His _lap_.

It’s so unexpected, so completely ridiculous, for a long moment Seungcheol can do nothing but sit there stupidly and let it happen. There seems to be no other logical response to the situation. He is a chair now, and he must accept this new profession gladly. 

After an imperceptible pause, where everyone's faces cycle through several expressions of utter bewilderment, Seungcheol decides _'Wait, no, this is ridiculous'_ and urges the boy back up onto his feet, gently guiding him over to the bed.

“There. Now Doctor, if you please?”

Dr Jeon does begin his examination, as meticulous as always as he checks the boy’s vitals, but for the first few minutes he looks as though he could laugh and is only holding himself in check by the slimmest of margins.

In truth, Seungcheol is hard pressed to stifle a laugh of his own, but once the examination is underway and the filthy shirt is dragged over the boy’s head, he feels the remainder of his humour drain away.

Being imprisoned in a dark cell for god knows how long has taken its toll on the boy’s body; his ribs show starkly along his chest, and he has acquired such a terrible patchwork of bruises that it takes Seungcheol a while, in the dim light, to determine where one ends and another begins. There is a worrying amount of dried blood crusting over his skin too, mostly around his neck and ankles, where the heavy iron collars have chafed him raw. Worse, it seems a stab wound in his calf has not been cleaned properly and has become infected.

Seungcheol prays it won’t require amputation; he’d hate to think of someone so young so permanently damaged.

Dr Jeon works methodically, cleaning the smaller wounds and applying salve, bandaging a swollen wrist tightly. His attempts to examine the stab wound however, are met with resistance. The boy twists away at first, whining in obvious discomfort, then when Dr Jeon uses a firmer grip to restrain him so he can prod the wound, he yelps like a wounded animal.

Seungcheol has to bite his tongue to keep from admonishing Dr Jeon to be gentle. It’s not up to him to question the tactics a doctor uses, surely, for each man knows his own profession best, but _still_ , his palms itch with the desire to shove the doctor away and complete the inspection himself, so he can be certain no further harm can come to the small man.

Eventually, after several failed attempts to inspect the limb, Dr Jeon finally draws away, shaking his head, “I’ll have to see to that leg eventually, if he wants to keep it.”

Dr Jeon's manner has always been rather pointed, and this is no different, but Seungcheol finds that it rankles him now when it never has before. “I’m sure he would appreciate full use of _all_ his limbs doctor, I would just prefer we found a way that didn’t cause him any further _discomfort_ ,” He forces himself to unclench his aching jaw. “Perhaps a sedative would be of some use? Something to ease him a little.”

Wonwoo gives him a lingering look over wire rimmed glasses, lips pursed thoughtfully. “There _is_ some Laudanum I can give him, but it is incredibly bitter to the taste. I doubt he will drink it willingly.”

“If you’ll prepare the dose, I will try and encourage him.” Seungcheol nods, ignoring the crumpled feeling in his stomach.

Wonwoo measures out the draft in a small cup while Seungcheol speaks to the boy in gentle tones, explaining the necessity of medication. The boy, bless him, does not bat an eyelid; his expression merely changes from one of curiosity to one of _attentive_ curiosity, before he mumble-squeaks something inaudible, so Seungcheol’s not _really_ expecting him to go along with it.

In truth, he expects the cup to be slapped out of his hands the moment he offers it up, or for the dose to be immediately spat out. Surprisingly, the boys knocks it back with one swallow, his only objection to the foul tincture a slight grimace of distaste and a full body shudder _._

“Fascinating.” Wonwoo says, and Seungcheol glances upwards to see him glancing over with something that, for him – the slightest upturn at the corner of his mouth – probably indicates amusement.

“What is?”

Wonwoo gives a little half-shrug of dismissal and returns to unpacking his suture kit. After the boy has fallen asleep, succumbing to the effects of the drug, he finally says, “I assumed him to be completely wild, yet he responds agreeably to all your commands and seems to trust you implicitly,” He hesitates, his eyebrows knitting together. “Have you learned anything about him yet? Why they had him prisoner?”

Seungcheol shifts back, frowning, “No, I was rather hoping _you_ could shed some light on his origins; he’s hardly in a position to tell me about himself, and the only other prisoner we captured is still too heavily concussed to question.”

Wonwoo’s hesitation is longer this time. 

“I doubt I could offer any useful information at this point.” He finally mutters, stepping over to the basin to wash his hands, his eyes never leaving the unconscious form on the bed, “I may know more when I have had time to observe him, but for now, from a medical perspective, all I can tell you is that he’s a healthy, adult male—".

“Healthy?” Seungcheol scoffs, eyeing him from beneath lifted brows. “I do believe your eyes are failing you doctor. He’s skin and bones.”

Wonwoo offers him a rare smile, “Ah, well, he’s hardly got an ounce of fat on him _now_ , but he was clearly well cared for before he was taken prisoner; the muscle underneath has not wasted away, and his bones are strong and fully formed.” He reaches a hand out to pull down the boy’s lower lip, tipping his head this way and that, “And he’s got all his teeth too; that’s always a good sign of a healthy life. With a few decent meals and proper rest, I am certain he will make a swift recovery. Provided the wound does not fester, of course.”

Seungcheol redirects his eyes out the window and nods his way through that.

When the silence stretches on, conversation clearly over, he turns for the door, only for Dr Jeon to ask, "Ah, Captain? Where should I have him moved once I finish?"

It’s such a practical question that it throws him for a moment.

Normally, the boy would be given a fresh change of clothes and a hammock to sling somewhere in the crew’s quarters. But Seungcheol thinks he ought to keep a close eye on him, for the first few days anyway, and at least in the captain’s cabin, the boy will be afforded a modicum of privacy while he recovers.

“The steward’s cabin next to mine is empty. Have the men take him there.”

* * *

The hold is dark after the brightness of the deck. Seungcheol pauses outside the prisoners cell a moment to let his eyes adjust, making it look as though he is deliberately sizing up the man inside.

_Poseidon Sabre's_ Cook is a stout, heavily bearded yet balding man, and the only crew member of the pirate ship they managed to take alive. Unlike his comrades, he’d surrendered quite gracefully when the ship was taken, though Seungcheol suspects his aversion to bloodshed has more to do with tactics than any real willingness to cooperate.

He claims to only be the cook, but he’s probably an exceptional lock pick too, and intends to wait till the crew are sleeping before freeing himself and slitting the guards throat—maybe escape on a boat while the rest are non the wiser. Seungcheol wonders if he should tell him he _knows_ he has a pin concealed under his tongue, and that there’s a dagger hidden in the sole of his boot—then decides against it.

It’s good to give a man hope.

Hope will make him more susceptible to questioning.

For a moment, he lets the man squirm under his gaze, watching him tap his fingers restlessly on his thighs, shift his seat on the floor, watching his eyes flick around the cell and look at everything but Seungcheol himself.

Finally, Seungcheol breaks the silence. “The prisoner you had aboard your ship. What’s his story?”

The man sneers, showing an impressive set of misshapen yellow teeth. “Who? The feral? Ain’t got one as far as I know. I only brought him his meals, and he could hardly string two sentences together to tell me his story.”

Next to him Mingyu scoffs, like he doesn't believe it for a second. 

“ _What_ meals, you sack of shit? The boy’s skin and bones.”

“Ain’t my fault the Cap’t was a stingy fucker,” The cook says, waspish and sharp, glancing sideways at him. “And he was a prisoner, wasn’t he? Prisoners settle for what the crew don’t want, and our lads were always a hungry lot.” He adds, the cold look in his eyes glittering with sudden malicious humour. 

Seungcheol frowns, a sour taste rising to the back of his tongue.

“Where was he from? Why was he your prisoner at all?”

Some of the edge goes out of the cooks’ sharp grin, though not all. “Don’t rightly know. T’was the Cap’n that found him, when we dropped anchor on some island a few months back. He’s the one who brought ‘im on board, and had him chained up.” He spreads his hands with a harried expression. “I was just the cook, s’not my place to ask questions.”

Seungcheol holds his gaze. He knows the man could probably lie frighteningly well whether he is looking him in the eye or not, but Seungcheol prefers to try and track the subtle shifts in his expression.

“Well, then, where _was_ this island? Could you identify it on a map?”

Derisive laughter drifts through the air as the man shakes his head. “ _Map_? You’re overestimatin’ my contribution. I keep telling ya I was just the cook. All I knows is, there was nuffin on that Island but trees and rocks and a big red flag. That’s wha caught the Cap’n eye—the flag that is. He said der must be a ship wreck there, and maybe something to salvage if we were lucky. After we dropped anchor, he set off with a few of the men, and when he came back, he had the boy with him but not much else. Some of the lads started to kick off cause we hadn’t nabbed a decent hunt in weeks, but Cap’n said we’d all get paid handsomely if we kept the boy alive.”

Seungcheol narrows his eyes, trying to see the connection.

That…doesn’t add up.

Ransoming a member of the nobility would certainly pay a handsome price; it’s so lucrative a venture in fact, the _Avenging Sentinel_ if often dispatched to escort Imperial vessels safely across the sea, lest a pirate ship try their luck. But the boy bears no markings to indicate he’s from a high-ranking family, and a Pirate Captain _would_ have been diligent enough to look for them.

Seungcheol's attention finally sharpens and focuses on a relevant point. “The flag, can you describe it?”

The cook’s eyebrows scrunch together and he opens his mouth as though he wants to say something smart like _‘it was rectangular—it flapped in the wind’_ , but a chilly look from Seungcheol halts his tongue. He lets out the breath he's taken with a hiss like a deflated bellows.

“It had some white markins’ on it, I think. Birds or something, I don’t know—it was _months_ ago.”

Mingyu catches Seungcheol’s eye across the cell and offers him a look— _Told you he was useless._

Seungcheol nods in agreement and lets out his breath in a long, slow sigh. He turns to exit the cell, but pauses when the prisoner spits out, “Oi, when am I getting some water?”

Turning back to face him, Seungcheol steps closer, then lunges, stamping his heavy boot on the man’s outstretched leg. When he hisses in pain, Seungcheol grabs him by the face and pries his jaw open, reaching in to quickly yank out the silver pin he can see tucked against his cheek. He tosses it out of the cell before relieving the man of his dagger too, hidden exactly where Seungcheol predicted it would be.

When he straightens up, the man curses a blue streak, promising him a painful death, but Seungcheol can see the shine of panic in his eyes, the knowledge that he won’t be leaving this cell anytime soon. 

“You’ll get your water,” Seungcheol tells him, as Mingyu locks the cell door behind them. “But like you said, prisoner’s get what the crew don’t want, and my lads have always been a thirsty lot.”

* * *

“It’s not much to go on, but that flag sounds a lot like one the Noble Houses of Carddrum flew during the war. A Carddrumian ship vessel would have sailed under it too.” Mingyu muses, keeping his voice pitched low and slow as they ascend the steps.

Seungcheol, only half listening, hums in agreement.

“I wasn’t aware that any had been reported missing.”

“None so notable in the last decade or so.” Mingyu answers, “The Ardent Heart was the last; it’s stern washed ashore on Acoburg a short while back. But the nearest one to our current position would have been _Endurance_. Last seen off the coast of Carpros almost...twenty years now? Don't quote me on that. My naval history is sketchy at best.”

Seungcheol looks out at the horizon, careful not to let his thoughts show themselves. 

_Endurance_.

The name sounds somewhat familiar.

Seungcheol recalls finally—a Carddrumian ship gone missing during the Imperial war, suspected to have fallen to the enemy after it’s stern was spotted half-sunk and charred on a reef by a passing merchant vessel. It would have been a ship-of-the-line, a vessel outfitted specifically for combat. There would have been no women permitted aboard, and the captain’s family would not have been allowed to accompany him either, so if it was lost at sea and the crew were shipwrecked off the coast of some barren island, how did the boy come to be?

He sweeps the thought aside and turns his attention back to the conversation.

"I doubt we’ll get any answers lingering here. Make ready for full sail. We’ll swing wide from the coast and approach Synfria from the north. Instruct the crows nest to be on the lookout for a flag."

Seungcheol stays only long enough to receive Mingyu's nod of acknowledgement before he sets off across the deck for his cabin.

There’s no such thing as perfect privacy on a ship, but the sound of the door closing behind him is like the sealing of a coffin lid, shutting him away from the life and activity on the deck. Only then does Seungcheol allow the exhaustion of the day’s events to catch up with him, sinking heavily in his chair at his desk. His hands move on their own, shuffling through his papers as he searches for the various charts and maps needed to plot their course. Once they are in front of him, though, he stares at them blankly, a divider in his hand, until the ink contours of the shore blur in front of his eyes.

_This is hopeless_ —he thinks, letting the instrument drop.

All is quiet in his cabin and while there is no space in his thoughts for anything but the tasks before him, he can’t hope to focus when his mind is still insistently stalling over several important questions: _who is this boy? Where did he come from? Why was he being held prisoner?_ His gaze falls on the Cryptex still lying tightly sealed on his desk, but before he can reach for it, a quiet thud from the adjoining cabin draws his attention, followed by a quiet moan.

By the time Seungcheol grabs a few oranges from the table and makes his way to the door, the cacophony of sound has increased in urgency and volume, till he grows fearful of what will greet him on the other side.

The bed is worryingly empty when he enters, but the boy hasn’t ventured far. He’s huddled in the far corner, tucked behind an empty chest of drawers, hands pressed against the side of his head as if nursing a terrible headache. The effects of the laudanum probably, wearing off.

He’s looking cleaner at least, the blood and dirt gone from his face and limbs, and someone has kindly pulled his long, matted hair back into a tail. But the cuts and bruises on his face look even worse now—stark against the pale canvas of his skin, and the crisp white shirt he’s been dressed in hangs off his small frame, making him look even more fragile somehow.

Seungcheol’s chest tightens to see him that way.

“How are you feeling?” He begins, closing the door behind him.

The boy’s head snaps up at the sound of Seungcheol’s voice, blinking deliberate and slow as his eyes adjust, then he growls dangerously, both coiled and sleepy at once, like a resting tiger. 

Seungcheol holds a hand up to convey his sympathy, then sinks down to the floor, sitting a fair distance away so as not to irritate his guest any more than he already has.

“I know, I know, you feel even worse than you did before, but it had to be done, your wound had to be tended to. You’ll feel better in the long run for it, I promise you.”

The boy’s glare softens slightly, his expression turning curious as he spots the oranges in Seungcheol’s lap.

Seungcheol reaches for one slowly and begins to peel it, forgoing the knife strapped to his leg in favour of his hands, then holds it out, arm stretching as far as he can. “It’s okay. You can take it. It’s good.”

The boy watches him warily, though he’s clearly interested in the orange.

Seungcheol gives it a squeeze and waves it around a bit, just enough to get the smell of it in the air and entice him a little closer. That seems to do the trick, if somewhat _briefly_. The boy _does_ scuttle forward, if only to snatch the orange out of his hand—then he’s retreating back to the wall to inspect it.

It must pass muster; he tears into it quickly, shoulders hunched forward, suddenly vulture-like, as if he were accustomed to guarding his food.

Seungcheol feels his heart tighten in his chest and begins to peel another.

The orange quickly disappears and the boy makes some urgent noises, holding out a hand expectantly. Seungcheol dutifully produces the second, though he makes the boy come closer this time to get it. He wonders how long it has been since the other man has last eaten; he’s acting completely ravenous.

It takes two more pieces of fruit before the boy keeps close to Seungcheol instead of scurrying away. Seungcheol keeps up a running stream of inane banter, his voice low and soothing. Once he’s finished eating the boy visibly droops, his eyes at half-mast.

“That’s better, right?” Seungcheol nods, unable to suppress a grin. “Come now, let’s get you back into bed.”

The boy grunts, which could mean _yes_ or just as equally _no_. But the way to his heart truly seems to be through his stomach, because he remains quietly compliant when Seungcheol guides him up to his feet and over to lie on the bed. 

It’s a small pallet, hardly spacious enough for a fully grown man to lie comfortably. Now it seems to stretch out impossibly around it’s newest, smallest occupant, who insists on huddling in the furthest corner like he needs to preserve warmth.

_Ah_ —Seungcheol thinks, casting around until he finds a thick, woollen blanket. The air in the cabin feels warm to him, but the boy is rail thin with hardly an ounce of fat to insulate him. Likely he will be feeling the cold for some time.

He draws the blanket over the boy’s shoulders, gently urging him to lie on his back so he can tuck it in tightly around him. The pleased sigh that escapes the boy as he burrows into the pillow makes Seungcheol’s heart constrict. He can’t help but bring his hand up to pet the unruly nest of hair, brushing the stray hairs sticking to the side of the boy’s cheek away. There is a moment of tension when he rests his hand on the back of the boy’s neck, then he gives it a little rub and the boy all but melts into the touch, practically _purring_.

“We’ll have to think of a name for you.” Seungcheol says, mostly to himself.

The boy gives no indication that he understands or cares, just so long as those hands continue playing with his hair. But as Seungcheol moves to rise to his feet, a hand reaches out to grasp his tightly, and the boy whispers, “Jihoon.”

Seungcheol looks up at him in some surprise, a smile pulling at his lips unwillingly, “Jihoon? Is that your name?”

The boy nods, then slowly lifts a hand to point at him.

“Seungcheol.” Seungcheol says, grinning now. He hadn't meant to use his given name, but it’s too late to correct himself now, and he wouldn’t want to either after the boy whispers it back to him ever so sweetly.


	3. Bribes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 Playlist  
> [Debussy - String Quartet in G minor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cEfhiCqlawI)

“Orange,” Jihoon huffs, then holds out his hand, like a monarch granting some trifling concession. “Give to me.”

Seungcheol considers holding out until he says ‘please’, but that wasn’t part of their agreement. Using words to ask for what he wants, instead of pointing and yelling and shaking his fist in a threatening manner is enough for a reward today.

Jihoon takes his orange over to the window to fawn at it for a while, then returns so Seungcheol can peel it for him, then retreats to eat it, and _then_ again returns to set the pips on Seungcheol’s desk like an offering.

"Well, at least he's not spitting them out across the cabin anymore. Right? I should give him another orange as a reward."

Jisoo levels Seungcheol a _look_ as he gathers his papers. A look with very condemning eyebrows. He doesn't say anything as he prepares to leave, but the eyebrows speak _volumes._

Seungcheol chooses to ignore him and his disapproving eyebrows in favour of peeling another orange. Jihoon's made definite progress with his manners today, he deserves at least one more orange. In fact, he's been making significant progress all week.

His initial recovery had been slow, and Seungcheol had spent more time than he intended in the cabin, keeping a close eye on him, but true to Dr Jeon’s predictions, with three square meals a day and a bounty of fruits to enjoy, his wound healed, and he quickly began to regain the weight lost during his captivity.

There’s a flush of healthy colour on his cheeks now, and he favours his left leg less each day, and his thick, tatted nest of straw-coloured hair has grown into a thicker, more tatted nest of golden coloured hair—because god _forbid_ anyone try and comb it for him. Even Seungcheol is not permitted to wave a comb anywhere near him, though Jeonghan, somehow, _miraculously_ , has managed to teach him how to braid some of the wildness out of it.

Despite all that, despite the marked improvements to his health and appetite and even his speech, he’s still a long way off from disembarking _Avenging Sentinel_ a free, independent man. He’s still a shy and frightened creature, still incredibly evasive around…well, pretty much everyone that _isn’t_ Seungcheol.

Certainly, he will tolerate the presence of many of the men onboard, especially the ones who make a repeated effort to show him kindness, but only as long as Seungcheol is within reach. If anyone dares approach him when Seungcheol is absent, however temporarily, all hell breaks loose. Seriously, his shrill, panicked yelping can probably be heard across the continent.

So, no—despite naval procedure and Dr Jeon’s verdict that he is now perfectly healthy, Jihoon is far from ready to be offloaded at the next port. And in truth, Seungcheol is not prepared to part with him either.

Sharing his cabin with a feral little man is not something he could have foreseen when he accepted his captaincy, but it’s actually turned out to be one of the highlights of this voyage because Jihoon, in spite of his numerous peculiarities, makes for a delightful little companion.

Even now, sitting atop Seungcheol’s desk, fashioning the discarded orange peel into some sort of _hair accessory?_ Seungcheol can’t help but be entertained by him.

In many ways, Jihoon’s rather like a low-maintenance cat: largely aloof, inquisitive when the mood strikes him, but surprisingly playful—at least he is with Seungcheol if no one else. 

He’ll haunt the edges of officer’s meetings, peering curiously at all the maps and scrolls laid out across the table, but he’ll never interfere—preferring always to listen or tuck himself away in some corner to watch plans unfold. Then when the meeting draws to and end and the officers depart, he’ll approach Seungcheol and point at something that caught his attention earlier. Usually an instrument left behind on the table, or an orange, or an area of the map that has been pinned, and Seungcheol will explain what it is, and what it’s for.

He likes to watch Seungcheol write too, and will sit patiently for hours, chin in his hands, watching the movement of the quill avidly with his sharp, intelligent gaze. When Seungcheol gives him some parchments and his own quill to practice with, it’s as if all his Oranges have come at once.

He demonstrates a surprisingly good mastery of it too, balancing the quill between his fingers instead grabbing it with a fist like Seungcheol expected, which suggests he’s had practice at some point.

Or perhaps he’s just watched someone for long enough?

_Curious._

Either way, everything he writes is complete gibberish, but Seungcheol _does_ show him how to write his name, and his attempts at drawing are very promising. He draws things he’s seen onboard—oranges, obviously, little birds that land on the sails, Seungcheol himself—then some things he could have only seen elsewhere—sharks, oddly shaped fruit, and what appears to be a little wooden hut on a beach.

It’s a drawing he keeps coming back to, like he’s trying to impress it into his memory with each attempt, and Seungcheol finds himself staring at it long after Jihoon falls asleep, wondering why it’s so important to him.

“Seungcheol—look.”

Seungcheol glances up from the drawing to find Jihoon standing before him, two pieces of orange peel draped across each shoulder, with another larger piece sitting atop his head.

The expectant, almost _hopeful_ look on Jihoon’s face suggests he’s supposed to have an opinion on this latest fashion trend, though Seungcheol can only quirk a puzzled eyebrow in response.

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

Jihoon pouts, deflating a little.

“I…I captan too.” He whispers, gesturing at Seungcheol’s shoulder.

Following his gaze, Seungcheol smiles as his eye falls upon the heavy gold epaulettes that grace the shoulders of his jacket, still as gaudy and pristine as the day he’d been awarded his captain’s commission.

“Ah _, I see_ ,” He runs a thumb over the length of one gold braid before dropping his hand, some spark of fondness prompting him to say, "Would you like to try it on?"

Jihoon blinks at him for a long moment, clearly doubting the sincerity of the offer.

It’s enough to spur Seungcheol in action, and he wastes no time in shrugging out of his jacket and offering it up, then flicking orange peel away and settling it over the boy’s shoulders himself when Jihoon continues to gape at him in speechless surprise.

Jihoon does stir a little once the tricorn hat is placed on his head, glancing down at himself in quiet awe, turning the gold buttons gently between his fingers.

Seungcheol chuckles, stepping back to admire the view.

He’s not expecting his jacket to fit, and well— _it doesn’t_. Jihoon does not possess Seungcheol’s broad build, nor his height; the cuffs fall too far over his wrists and the length is not ideal, and the brassy gold of the buttons and braids, which complement Seungcheol's own sun-bronzed colouring, muddy Jihoon's pinkish complexion.

Jihoon looks thrilled with it, though, spinning on the spot and trying to peer over his own shoulder. It puts Seungcheol in mind of a puppy, still young enough to believe he has a chance of catching his own tail, and Seungcheol catches an unwise laugh on his own lips in enough time to transform it into an admiring expression.

“Very handsome. You are most definitely a Captain now.”

Jihoon puffs his chest out proudly, looking every inch an imperial officer, save for the wide grin on his face and the sparkle of excitement in his bright eyes – a dreadful deficit to decorum, however enchanting.

“I Captan Jihoon.”

“Indeed you are,” Seungcheol nods seriously, perching himself on the edge of his desk. “And what will be the first order of business Captain Jihoon? Shall we plot a new course? Summon the quartermaster for a briefing on the crew’s work? Or would prefer to doodle all over the ship’s log again?”

Jihoon seems to consider this for a moment, before announcing, very proudly, “Captan Jihoon want more orange.”

Seungcheol thinks he really ought to have seen that one coming.

* * *

“Spoon.”

“Yes, very good. And this?”

“Napkin.”

“Excellent. And this?”

Jihoon furrows his brow, deep in thought, then offers with complete confidence, “Comb.”

Seungcheol’s lips thin in an effort not to grin.

“Ah, _well_ —I can see why you’d think that. It does look a bit like a comb, but it’s actually a fork. _Fork_.”

Jihoon shakes his head, unconvinced, “Comb.”

Seungcheol’s mouth catches on a laugh, half-exasperated. “No, not comb. _Fork_. A comb is for your hair. A fork is for grabbing your food with, like this.” He demonstrates the difference by reaching for his own fork and spearing a carrot. “See?”

In response, Jihoon continues to rake his fork through the pile of peas on his plate. “Oh, I see. I see comb. _Food_ _comb_.”

Seungcheol concedes the point with a quiet nod; he knows when to pick his battles, and technically, _technically_ , Jihoon’s not wrong. Fork, food comb—it’s six of one and half a dozen of the other.

A derisive snort draws Seungcheol’s attention away from the table and across the room, to where Dr Jeon is sitting, arms folded, watching them with ill-concealed amusement. Under Seungcheol’s stern expression, he quickly ducks his head, pretending to make a series of notes in a well-used ledger. 

Rolling his eyes, Seungcheol dabs his mouth with a napkin and steps away from the table.

“ _Well_ Doctor?” He prompts, dropping his voice to a quiet murmur as he stops in front of the chair Wonwoo has commandeered for his observations, “You’ve had ample opportunity to observe him now. Have you come to any conclusions?”

“Oh yes. Indeed.” Wonwoo says with great significance. Then, lacking all subtlety and apropos of absolutely nothing, “I’ve concluded that he’s got you wrapped around his little finger.”

Faintly stunned and dry-mouthed, Seungcheol clears his throat awkwardly, “I beg your pardon?”

Wonwoo's tone warms with amusement, “Oh don’t get me wrong, I _like_ this side of you. It’s… refreshing. When I first came on board, I had you pegged as a brute. I think we all did in a way; your reputation did proceed you I’m afraid.” He catches Seungcheol’s severe look and amends hastily, “But over time you revealed yourself to be a very reasonable man, and now… _well_ , I don’t think I’ve ever seen you behave so _patiently_ with anyone for as long as I’ve known you. It’s almost heart-warming to watch you two interact.”

There’s a strong temptation to smile at that. Seungcheol rubs at the corners of his mouth to forestall it instead.

“ _Okay_ …but have you come to any conclusions regarding his _origins_?”

Wonwoo inclines his head. “Ah. Well—for starters, he’s certainly not as feral as he appears, of that I am certain. He understands everything that is said, so he must have had regular interaction with someone besides his captors—someone patient enough to teach him our language, but without the resources to teach him much else. The fact that he can’t read or write is not especially telling; illiteracy is not that uncommon, and a great number of people you pass in the street will never have cause to pick up a book or quill in their lives, but the hesitancy in his speech, and the regression in his pronunciation of certain words suggests something _else_.”

He pauses there, tapping two fingers against temple—like he’s still thinking things through or perhaps just pausing for optimum dramatic effect. Either way, Seungcheol’s very tempted to kick the chair out from under him. 

“And _what_ would that be?”

Wonwoo meets his gaze and gives him a bleak smile. “That he’s had no cause to speak in quite some time. Or more likely, that he had no one left to speak _to_.”

Seungcheol’s heart lurches, so painfully he almost staggers. That is all he needs to hear. Not a concise picture, but at least enough for now. Enough to start putting together the pieces behind his eyes. 

“Right. Thank you doctor. I…I think that’ll be all for now.”

Dr Jeon nods and begins to gather his papers. Seungcheol waits until he leaves before retaking his seat at the table where Jihoon is dragging a fork over his plate disinterestedly.

He’s managed to eat most of his dinner, but once again, he’s left all the parsnips behind. Seungcheol’s not sure why he never eats them—if it’s the taste, the colour or texture, or perhaps because he’s knows if he keeps looking so forlornly at his plate, Seungcheol will feel bad enough to hand over the orange he denied him earlier. 

Well, there’s only so many times (twelve and counting) that Seungcheol’s going failing for that sort of emotional blackmail. He crosses his arms and waits stubbornly, watching Jihoon spear a mushy parsnip and regard it for several unimpressed seconds, before a sudden, startling thought tickles him.

“Jihoon?” He sits forward in his chair and rests his elbows on his knees, pitching his voice to catch Jihoon’s attention, “When we first met, how did you know I was a captain?”

The fork Jihoon is lifting to his mouth wavers a little. He sets it down instead of taking a bite and lifts his hand to point at the badge on Seungcheol’s lapel.

“My badge?” Seungcheol says smoothly, concealing his startlement, “You’ve seen one before. Where?”

Jihoon shrugs lightly, avoiding his eyes. “Home.”

That knowledge sends Seungcheol’s mind racing. He presses his lips together and tries to choose his words with the utmost caution. 

“And where _is_ that exactly? Where is _home_?”

Jihoon hugs his knees and does a bad job of looking calm, as he often does when he’s asked too many questions.

“I not know _where_. Pirats take me away. I not see home long time.”

Seungcheol stares out across the cabin, frowning as he thinks. He wonders if he should leave it be, but then he spots one of Jihoon’s recent drawings poking out from under a book and he can't help but reach for it, asking tentatively, “Is this it? Is this…home?”

Jihoon has gone pale, but he manages to nod and shake his head all at once, miserably, reaching out to trace the edges of the drawing. “I stay here long time. I wait. But he not come back.”

He looks visibly upset now and Seungcheol wishes he hadn’t mentioned it. It must be a horrible feeling to miss something so deeply and know you’ll never see it again, to be old enough to recreate it so vividly in your mind, and yet be too lost to find your way back.

Seungcheol sets the drawing aside, then reaches for the orange in his pocket, holding it out for Jihoon to take. Jihoon’s eyes flick to his, his irrepressible smile dawning again, bright and startled and lovely, “I can eat orange now? But…but I not finish parsnips.”

Seungcheol chuckles, and reaches over to transfer the unwanted parsnips to his own plate, “What parsnips?”

* * *

“Mingyu.”

“Mango.”

“Ming- _gyu_ ”

“Man- _go_.”

Mingyu tips his head to the side. His expression is fractured by disbelief. “How come he can say everyone else’s name perfectly, but I’m Mango?”

Seungcheol smiles faintly, sparing the man a quick look as he arranges the maps across the table. “I’m sure it’s nothing personal Mr Kim. He pronounces everything a little differently than he’s supposed to. You should consider yourself lucky actually, he calls Jisoo, _Jizzy_.”

Mingyu makes a dubious noise, but hands Jihoon the apple he’s been attempting to bribe him with anyway. Jihoon immediately spirits it away to his favourite seat by the stern window, cradling it like the last egg of a dying species.

“He seems to be making progress. Have you decided what you’re going to do with him?” Mingyu says, voice abruptly conversational.

Seungcheol keeps his gaze focused on his charts, even though he already laid in their course with Jeonghan. It’s better than looking at his quartermaster as he attempts to conceal his feeling on the matter.

“I haven’t really thought about it. We’ll be stopping to resupply in Sachal within the week, but as you well know it’s not exactly a hospitable environment for a newcomer. For now, I think he’s better off here.”

Mingyu hums in agreement, running a finger along the navigational quadrant resting on top of the desk. “Well, if that’s the case, we’ve got plenty of room below if you want to move him.”

Seungcheol looks up at him in some surprise, a frown tugging at his lips unwillingly.

“Why would I do that?”

Mingyu meets his gaze, eyebrow raised. “Since he’s more settled now, I figured you’d revel in the opportunity to get your privacy back. Unless of course, you have _other_ reasons to keep him close.” He trails off, a twist to his mouth that would be a smirk from a more stirring man.

Seungcheol lets his expression relax into something less intense. Feigning indifference, he replies, “No, of course not. I just see no sense in creating such upheaval after he’s just gotten comfortable on board. Besides, I don’t think _he’d_ like that very much. He’s grown very attached to my company.”

Mingyu is definitely smirking at him now. 

“Is that so?” He drawls, looking from him to Jihoon with a strangely knowing gleam in his eyes. “Or is it _you_ who’s doing the growing?”

Seungcheol flushes, then glares hard at him. He’s rightly affronted by the notion that he has any _personal_ motivations to keep Jihoon close, but he can’t hide his dismay as Mingyu steps around the desk to where Jihoon is seated, peacefully eating his apple, and fixes him with the steely eye of a negotiator.

“Jihoon, what say you come bunk below deck with me and the rest of the lads. They’re a friendly lot and they’ll take good care of you, and they’re a darn site more entertaining than the Captain here. Sound good?”

Jihoon stops chewing suddenly, then scowls, then throws his half-eaten apple at Mingyu’s head.

“No! I stay here, I stay with Seungcheol. I…I…I _angry_ with you.”

The look that crosses the quartermaster’s face in the next instant is priceless. Mingyu looks rather like he has been bowled over by a mule, and Seungcheol resists only with difficulty the urge to reach sideways and shut his gaping mouth.

“I, uhh—I think you have your answer _Mango_.” He says, doing his best not to sound so very smug about it.

He likely fails.

Mingyu snorts and casts a look back at Seungcheol. “Did you see that? It’s personal, Seungcheol. It’s very personal. He’s clearly had it out for me since day one.”


	4. The Lobster

“Captain—you don’t really intend to let him _keep_ that thing, do you?”

Seungcheol cuts his gaze over to the stern window, where Jihoon is now sitting, cradling his new favourite _plaything_.

“Why not? It seems to make him very happy, and it’s doing an excellent job of distracting him. Why shouldn’t he be allowed to keep it?”

Jisoo’s raised eyebrow seems to be suggesting quite a _few_ reasons actually.

“It’s a lobster.” He says, in that slow, pointed way, like the fact that Jihoon is currently hugging the grotesquely large lobster they caught in one of the ship’s nets has perhaps, what? Skipped Seungcheol’s notice?

Well, it hasn’t.

That thing is at least 14 pounds. Large enough to feed six men, maybe more. But oh no, god forbid they even _think_ about eating it, because Jihoon found it first and Jihoon _adores_ it.

He’s even _named_ the blasted thing.

 _Larry_.

Larry the giant fucking Lobster.

“Yes, well,” Seungcheol’s lips tighten and he pauses before replying, “People _have_ had stranger pets Mr Hong. Some people keep snakes and lizards and even big, man-eating cats. I think you’ll agree a lobster is a mild nuisance in comparison. Even if it is… _huge_.”

Jisoo moves his lips in a familiar way Seungcheol recognises as his attempt to hide a smile, though to his eyes it’s not hidden at all.

“Perhaps, but those people don’t usually keep those pets in their rooms, nor indeed do they _cuddle_ with them at night.”

Seungcheol says nothing more, though he will admit to finding that a little _strange_. Lobsters aren’t exactly the most cuddle worthy of creatures in his estimation—their tough outer shell for one thing, and their beady eyes are somewhat unnerving up close—and yet, Jihoon seems to take great comfort in cuddling _this_ one. Like it’s a dear old friend. Stranger _still_ is the way he _converses_ with it, in an incomprehensible language of squeaks and clicks that the lobster _actually_ seems to understand and respond to. Which is just…baffling really. 

Regardless, Seungcheol has no intention of coming between Jihoon and his new giant best friend. It’s a strange sight to be sure, watching him tote a giant lobster around the cabin, but Jihoon’s more content than he has ever been and that’s all that matters.

That is of course, until Larry _dies_. 

It was bound to happen eventually—lobsters are sea creatures, they can only survive out of water for a handful of days—but Seungcheol, like an utter _fool_ , completely forgot to account for that and now Jihoon is inconsolable with grief and guilt.

He remains so for much of the week, taking to his cabin and refusing to speak, (he even dons black) and no amount of oranges Seungcheol offers up can lure him out. By the fourth day, Seungcheol is so concerned for his wellbeing, he actually orders all the nets to be lowered so they can increase the chances of catching him another Lobster.

It’s futile. There are clearly no lobsters left in the sea because Larry ate them all.

It’s only when they’re inspecting the hold of a captured pirate vessel, filled with an abundance of fine cottons and silks pilfered from a merchant ship, does Seungcheol come up with a solution to the _Larry_ problem. Most of the goods are returned to the nearest port and to their rightful owners, but before they are, Seungcheol confiscates a small length of bright red felt for his own use, and sets about fashioning a _new_ Larry.

In secret, where nobody can judge him, and when he’s not busy with his Captain’s duties _obviously_.

It takes the better part of a two days to sketch and cut out his design, another two to sew it, fill it with grain and obtain some black buttons for the eyes, and in between he stabs himself with a needle so many times he’s sorely tempted to just hurl the blasted thing into the sea and forget he could ever be so sentimental. But he preserves, and when he finally presents it to Jihoon, the boy…well…

Seungcheol’s breath catches as Jihoon _stares_ , not at the lobster, but at him, eyes wide and wet and _worshipful_.

“You—you make me Larry? You make, for _me_?”

“Yes, well—” Seungcheol attempts to sound offhand about the whole thing, but immediately falters under Jihoon’s regard. He’s still staring up at Seungcheol, with that absurd look of awe on his face, and Seungcheol suddenly finds the floor beneath his feet has become fascinating. “You were very upset. I couldn’t just…I had to do _something_.”

For a long moment, Jihoon stands silent before him. Then he steps closer without speaking and presses close along Seungcheol's front, tucking his head under Seungcheol's jaw and wrapping his arms around his waist.

Seungcheol stiffens under the gesture, instinctively, but then he’s being swept up into such tender feelings that he longs to place a kiss to Jihoon’s head. Instead, he rests his chin for just a moment on the soft curls before leaning back, touching Jihoon's chin till the boy meets his eyes.

“I’m glad you like your new Larry Jihoon, but...if anyone asks _how_ you obtained him, I think it wise you not reveal I was the one who gave him to you. It cannot be known that I have favourites aboard the ship, so, for your own good, perhaps you could say you found him? Or better yet, that you made it yourself. Is that…do you understand?”

A look of confusion crosses Jihoon’s face, but he nods and carries his new Larry over to his customary seat by the window. Seungcheol assumes his place behind the desk and returns to his charts, plucking up his quill just as there’s a faint knock on the door.

Jeonghan enters the cabin, bearing the slate with the course corrections Seungcheol asked him to review earlier. His studious expression morphs into an admiring one as he spots the lobster in Jihoon’s arms.

“Ooh,” He grins, stopping in front of Seungcheol’s desk. “What a lovely little lobster you have there Jihoon. Wherever did you get it?”

Jihoon smiles, clutching Larry tightly against his chest.

“Captan _make_ for me,” He even has the cheek to waggle his eyebrows, “I his _favourite_.”

Even as he looks heavenward, Seungcheol can still see the way Jeonghan’s eyebrows quirk towards the hairline. He turns his head to look at Jihoon, trying to be severe, but is unable to hold it at the sight of Jihoon nuzzling his new toy.

“What did I _just_ say?”

* * *

It’s an early spring day when Jihoon falls ill.

Seungcheol had known something was wrong the moment Jihoon refused an orange at breakfast—his favourite. Then later, it showed in the way the blacks of his eyes were half-blown and the way he walked with a roll to his hip, like every step was taking all his energy. By the afternoon, he’d collapsed on the deck and had to be carried to his cabin, where he’s remained bedbound since. The fever that has taken hold of him seems to have sprung up out of nowhere, and yet it seems like the worst kind of oversight.

“I don’t understand,” Jisoo strokes his chin, as if this is something to be considered. “I thought the wound on his leg was healing nicely.”

“It is!” Mingyu says, a hard frown on his face. “It’s almost completely healed. It doesn’t bother him anymore. And he’s been eating well too, piling the pounds on. Now he’s practically at death’s—” He breaks off and makes a complicated face.

Only Seungcheol is silent among them, sitting there, digging his fingers into the arms of the chair to keep from bursting into the next room.

He has no knowledge of medicine, so he can’t even begin to speculate how severe Jihoon’s condition is, and he isn't a praying man, either, and so he could only try not to dread the worst in the long hours after Doctor Jeon shut the door behind them.

When the door opens, Seungcheol pries his grip loose from the arms of his chair and strides across the room, accosting Dr Jeon before he can even step foot out of the room. 

“Well? What is it?” He says impatiently.

Wonwoo rubs a hand over his face, expression tight. “I have no idea. The symptoms are too varied to confirm any one ailment, and I’ve never seen a fever set in that quickly before. Whatever it is, he’s clearly in a tremendous amount of pain. I’ve given him a dose of laudanum, to settle him a little. But he’s sweating fluids faster than he’s taking them in and he’s beyond delirious.”

Seungcheol’s mouth turns dry. Dread claws up from his stomach and emerges from his throat in a croak of, “But he’ll be okay, right? He can sweat through it, whatever it is?”

Something like regret might shape the doctor’s mouth, but the man is too attached to his formalities to say anything other than:

“I'm sorry, Seungcheol. I’m afraid there’s not much else I can do for him.”

The answer is slow, measured, the words drawn out in a way that tells him Dr Jeon is choosing them very carefully, both to calm and warn him.

Seungcheol can't speak for a long moment, his jaw working, fists clenched. The deadened feeling in his chest expands until he doesn't know how he is still drawing breath. Gathering the last vestiges of his composure around him like a cloak, he straightens his shoulders and steps turns towards the door. 

In the small cabin, the lanterns are doused low. The only light comes from a solitary candle in a sconce on the wall above the pallet, enough for Seungcheol to see the small man sprawled carelessly on it. 

Jihoon has been stripped down to simple sleep shirt, one that should drape loosely over his slender form but now clings to sweat soaked skin. His eyes are cracked open and staring at the ceiling, but it isn't true wakefulness—delirium, and likely a dose of precious laudanum from the doctor's stores, cloud his gaze. As Seungcheol steps closer, he looks upon him with a glazed lack of recognition – or so Seungcheol assumes until the corner of his mouth twitches up in a smile.

It’s a small, weak expression that is nearly imperceptible in the darkened room. Seungcheol sees it though, and is at his side in an instant, sinking to kneel beside the bed, pushing the hair that is plastered to his forehead out of his face, tucking it behind his ears. That simple touch, as fleeting as it is, pulls a quiet moan from Jihoon, and his eyelids slip closed until the lashes rest against his cheeks like dark smudges.

Seungcheol knows he shouldn’t climb into the small pallet next to him, but he does. Lying here, cradling this small man—it’s dangerous to expose himself in this way. The men might joke he’s grown attached to Jihoon, but that is a far cry from what Seungcheol is certain now shows on his face, a helpless desperation to offer comfort. 

The ache of it coursing through him should be surprising, but it isn't. He’s felt it creeping up in him for weeks now—a fierce urge to protect and shield. He had not realized how profoundly he cared for the boy, how fond he’d grown of him, until now, when he’s seconds from slipping through his fingers.

* * *

“Ah, Dr Jeon, would you care to join us for breakfast?”

Wonwoo continues to stand by the door, staring in slack jawed amazement at the fine spread covering the table.

They may not be short of provisions, but a breakfast as fine as this is still a luxury Seungcheol seldom indulges in, never mind ensuring the entire crew indulges as well. But there is cause for celebration today, for Jihoon is seated next to him, in very good health and equal spirit as he valiantly attempts to hoard all the bacon with his food comb. 

“I—I’m astonished—I was certain fever had taken him in the night.” Wonwoo stammers, staring at Jihoon as if he’d sprouted an extra head. Though to be fair, Jihoon is remarkably different from when he had fretted over his fevered form only hours ago.

Seungcheol can only give a tight shrug in response. He’d thought much the same last night, had braced himself for the ache of loss—but when he blinked himself awake in the morning and turned his head, Jihoon was staring up at him, bright eyed and rosy cheeked, demanding oranges.

“Eat something Doctor—” Mingyu cheers, pulling a chair out for him, “The Captain’s generous streak can only last so long. I suspect it’ll be nothing but porridge from here on out.”

Wonwoo shakes his head, declining the offer in favour of rolling up his sleeves, “Later perhaps, first I must examine my patient."

He crouches next to Jihoon’s chair and attempts to check his vitals, but pulling the small man away from his food, however temporary, earns him a glower and a sharp, piercing whine.

“Wonu, _please_ —” Jeonghan groans as the entire table attempt to shield their ears, “Can this not wait? That sound is unbearable, and I’m certain Jihoon will be far more amendable to your efforts once his appetite is sated.”

Wonwoo eases back on his haunches, momentarily subdued. “It just doesn’t make sense. How could he recover so quickly? He could barely manage any water yesterday and now— _Jesus_ , look at him eat.”

Seungcheol sets his fork down, attention resting heavily on the young man seated to his left.

They are all hungry, but Jihoon is eating the fastest of any of them—the fastest Seungcheol has ever seen him eat, in fact. It could be argued he’s just making up for the meals he missed, but that doesn’t explain the strange, quicksilver energy vibrating through him, the way he can hardly sit still. Even as he chews on his food, he’s fidgeting in his seat, shaking his leg, darting his eyes around the cabin almost anxiously. _Or perhaps he is uncomfortable because you haven’t stopped smiling at him_ , Seungcheol tells himself, and resolutely looks away.

“Is it possible you misdiagnosed him doctor? Perhaps he was not as ill as you first thought?”

Dr Jeon doesn’t seem convinced by that at all, and continues to kneel there with his hands on his hips, surveying Jihoon through a grimace.

“Regardless, he is in perfectly good health Wonwoo, I assure you,” Seungcheol pipes in, when it looks like the doctor might try and interrupt Jihoon’s breakfast again. “In fact, I dare say he is in even _better_ health than ever before. Whatever you gave him for the fever last night worked wonders.”

Tension enters Wonwoo’s voice. “That’s the thing, I could scarcely _give_ him anything. He spat out every tincture I attempted to administer, and when he entered a fevered state, he wouldn’t let me anywhere near him. I truly thought he would pass in the night.”

The corners of Seungcheol’s mouth tighten and draw down into a scowl at the thought.

“Well, you must have done _something_ , otherwise he wouldn’t—”

He’s interrupted by the scrapping of chair legs as Jihoon rises from his seat and rounds the table to climb into his lap. He’s a touch warm all over as he settles in Seungcheol’s embrace, but that heat quickly begins to dissipate where their bare skin connects, and when he nuzzles into the bend of Seungcheol’s neck, it all but vanishes completely.

 _Strange_ —Seungcheol thinks, and not for the first time. He’s never heard tell of a fever lifting from skin-on-skin contact, but now when he thinks about it, last night Jihoon had…

His attention is suddenly diverted to the table of officers, that are now watching him with open interest.

“What?” he says, glancing around the watching gaggle of men. 

Dr Jeon averts his gaze, and Jeonghan and Jisoo quickly return to their breakfasts, while Mingyu smothers a smile behind his broad hand.

“What is it?” Seungcheol frowns, “What’s so amusing?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Mingyu shakes his head, making a dismissive gesture. But then, as if he can’t help it: “When do we get a cuddle?”

 _Oh_ —Seungcheol thinks, remembering the impropriety of the small man in his arms— _that._

* * *

Jihoon’s new, readily welcomed yet wholly improper, affectionate streak does not end there.

Seungcheol wakes with a start, jolting upright, one hand clutching the blankets and the other going to the hilt of the knife he keeps tucked under his pillow. It takes him a moment to get his bearings and realise what has awoken him, to recognise the shape of the small figure sitting at the foot of his bed.

He reaches for Jihoon before he knows what he’s doing, cupping his shoulder with one broad hand.

“What is it, what’s wrong?”

Jihoon’s answering gesture is somehow both eloquent and unintelligible.

Eventually, he murmurs, “I cold.”

Seungcheol nods slowly, still half asleep and then pushes the covers back. There are some spare blankets in the chest by the foot of Jihoon’s bed he must not know about—Seungcheol will fetch them for him, except Jihoon must misinterpret the drawing back of the blanket as an invitation to climb into his bed with him, because that’s _exactly_ what he begins to do.

“I was just—" _Going to fetch you another blanket,_ Seungcheol is attempting say, but Jihoon’s already insinuating himself under the covers and right into his space, breathing a happy little sigh as burrows into his warmth. 

For his part, Seungcheol lies very still, eyes trained on the planking of the cabin ceiling. His hands have migrated to Jihoon’s back, lightly at first and then more firmly when Jihoon made a soft, approving noise in the back of his throat. Now he doesn’t know how to remove them—nor, if he’s being honest with himself, does he _want_ to—which might just be the most troubling part of this new development.

This is… _pleasant_. Unusual, yes, highly inappropriate, definitely—but enjoyable, nevertheless. At least, certain _parts_ of his anatomy seem to be enjoying it more than others, which—okay, perhaps _this_ is the most troubling part of this new development.

Seungcheol suppresses a groan as he feels his cock twitch traitorously, responding to the thigh nestled between his legs. The ache weighs on him, sending an urge thrumming through his blood that he only gets at the feel of bare skin against his own. There’s not a damn thing he can do about it though; he’s not sure what’s the etiquette of touching one’s self while you’re sharing a bunk with another man, but most likely a gentleman _wouldn’t_.

He tries to dislodge it instead, to roll out from under Jihoon, only to stiffen further as the man voices his disapproval and burrows _closer_ , murmuring a sleepy ‘stay’ in his ear.

It’s almost sweet really, how utterly content Jihoon is in his arms, how quickly he has drifted off to sleep.

Seungcheol only wishes he could say the same for himself.

* * *

Seungcheol rests his palms against the railing and looks at the sky—it isn't quite sunset, but nearing it, the sky not quite so thoroughly blue as it had been, and to both sides he can hear the gentle slap of waves against the Avenging Sentinel, and—

“Rough night captain?”

Suppressing a sigh, Seungcheol glances over and meets the expected smiling eyes of his quartermaster.

“Not at all.” He says, but the words come out far too dreary to be convincing.

He has had rough night to be fair. A rough _handful_ of nights actually, because even though the weather has been unseasonably mild as of late, and despite a generous supply of extra blankets, it hasn’t stopped Jihoon from returning to his bed night after night, complaining of the cold. 

Seungcheol doesn’t trust his body’s natural response to all that warm, smooth skin, and the rest he’s denied himself is beginning to _wear_ on him.

“Jihoon…” He begins to explain, but he only gets as far as that before the words dry up unspoken. He looks away. His face feels warm. “…snores.”

It’s a blatant lie, but it’s probably safer than admitting _‘likes to use me as his own personal blanket every night and it’s driving me insane’._

Mingyu folds his arms and leans against the railing, squinting through the sunlight at Seungcheol with a faint smile. “Well, the offer still stands. I have a lovely little hammock waiting for him below deck, right next to mine. Just say the word.”

Seungcheol meets his eyes sharply, “ _No_.”

Mingyu juts out his chin, “ _Not_ exactly the word I was looking for, but I’ll still gladly take him off your hands. I’m used to the other lads snoring, and I doubt a wee thing like him can be that loud.”

Seungcheol levels him a look, hoping to convey with his stare _‘try and I’ll gut you like a fish’._

The wide-eyed look Mingyu offers back suggests he might have said it out _loud_ too.

“Christ. You’ve fallen even harder than I thought.”

Seungcheol shifts his weight, hot-faced and very aware of Mingyu’s gaze scratching against his walls. He shakes his head, straightening, making himself look fully controlled. "I don't know what you're implying, but—"

His quarter master chuckles, and the sound is disarming enough that Seungcheol falls silent. Allows the man to continue, "There's no point being _coy_ Seungcheol. It’s _me_ for fucks sake. I’ve known you longer than anyone else here. You can at least admit you find him compelling,” He tilts him a knowing look. “You know I’m not exactly in a position to judge you for it."

Seungcheol’s eyes spark. His lip sneers. “Perhaps not. But as this conversation clearly indicates, you’ll happily laud it over me to make a point.”

He knows he’s spoken too quickly, without thinking, but it has the desired effect. Mingyu rears back a step, visibly offended.

"No. I wasn’t trying to—"

Seungcheol doesn’t let him finish. He feels very tired as he pushes of the railing, and this weight only seems to drag more heavily with each step towards his cabin.

It’s far too early to retire for the night, but he has half a thought of picking up a book, something thick and dense that will take a long time to read, perhaps occupy his mind enough when it comes time to sleep. Then he lumbers into his cabin and forgets the idea completely.

Jihoon is sitting by the stern window, rolling the Cryptex between his hands, looking for all the world like a man who has tripped over a delightful surprise.

“Careful with that, it’s not a toy—” Seungcheol begins, quickly stepping around his desk to retrieve it.

Jihoon’s usually quite reasonable about returning items when asked, so Seungcheol is completely unprepared for the way he snatches the Cryptex back and clutches it against his chest, a curl of petulant anger twisting his expression as he hisses, “ _Mine_.”

Seungcheol’s face slackens in surprise. “What? Really?”

Jihoon drops his gaze to his lap, avoiding Seungcheol's eyes. “It...it my papa’s. He gave to me before he go away. I think I lose it, but now it here, with you. Why you take it Seungcheol? Why you take my secret and not tell me? It my secret, not your secret. I angry with you.”

Seungcheol hesitates for a moment, watching Jihoon carefully, then drags a chair closer to the window.

“I didn’t take it, Jihoonie, I found it—it was in Captain Sehun’s cabin. You remember the Pirate, that had imprisoned you? He must have taken it when he caught you, and then I took it when we sunk his ship. But I didn’t know it was yours, or I would have returned it.”

He waits and then when Jihoon doesn’t speak, he asks, “Was your father a naval captain? Like me?”

Jihoon nods, “He captan too, but…he have no ship. His ship gone, crash in big storm.”

Seungcheol nods too, processing the information eagerly. They’re finally getting somewhere.

“What was his name?”

“ _Papa_.” Jihoon says, slow and deliberate, like he thinks Seungcheol’s an _idiot_.

Seungcheol huffs out a short sigh, “Yes, perhaps that’s what _you_ call him, but he must also have a _name_. Like yours name is Jihoon and mine is Seungcheol, he too must have a name _other_ people call him by.”

Something flickers in Jihoon’s expression—a brief wrinkling of his brow, a tightening around his mouth. His eyes drop down to his lap again, and there is a trembling to his lip when he looks back up. 

“No other people. It just me and papa for long time. Then…just me.”

 _Ah_ , Seungcheol thinks, brought up short; so it’s like that.

He isn’t really sure what the appropriate reaction to this news should be, emotional or otherwise, but his throat feels unbearably tight all of a sudden. A hundred different questions wander into his head, only to be suitably dismissed. It isn’t that he can’t think of what to ask, but rather he doesn’t know what to ask _first_.

“Well, do you know how to open it? Do you know what’s _inside_?” A question emerges thickly, around the knot in his throat. 

He almost regrets it when Jihoon's fingers tighten on the Cryptex protectively, but as quick as the tension had come, it spools out of him like it had never been there in the first place.

“Big secrets. Papa tell me not open it for bad people. Only good people can look.”

Seungcheol takes a careful breath and lets it out slowly.

That’s reasonable advice, all things considered. The secrets one chooses to conceal in a Cryptex—ship schedules, battleship assignments, even treasure maps _years_ out of date—could spell disaster if they fell into the wrong hands. Jihoon’s right not to trust anyone with its contents, even Seungcheol—

“Here, I open it for you.”

Seungcheol startles as Jihoon thrusts the now unsealed Cryptex into his hands, completely without his former hesitation, then pads away to fetch an orange. Seungcheol hadn’t even glimpsed at _how_ he unlocked it, or heard the hiss of its release, but now it lies open in his hands, rolls upon rolls of parchments coiling out.

Seungcheol leafs through the papers, spreading the largest one out across his desk and weighting the corners. It seems to have been a map once, but now there is thin, spidery writing all over it, written in darker ink across the shadowy shapes of shorelines and islands.

Leaning over the table, he begins to read:

Seungcheol reads through them all one by one, then a second time, trying to piece together a timeline of events despite the lack of dates and missing sections of parchments. By his third read through the sun has almost set and the light is failing him, and he is forced to set them aside and reach for his lamp.

He’s surprised to find Jihoon still sitting behind him as he stands, curled up in the seat by the stern window and fast asleep. Seungcheol quickly shucks off his jacket and drapes it over him, smiling fondly as Jihoon makes a pleased little sound and rubs his cheek against the collar like a fretful kitten.

Seungcheol can’t imagine how awful that must have been, to wake up one morning and find yourself completely alone. Jihoon must have searched for his father desperately, must have sat on that beach for days at a time, facing the sea and waiting for him to return. It _would_ have felt like the worst kind of betrayal to his young mind, left him so terrified and despondent he would have welcomed the first stranger he met with open arms, heedless of the danger they posed.

None of this explains why the Pirates took him as a prisoner, however.

The Cryptex was found still sealed in the Pirate captain’s cabin, and even if they _were_ able to determine Jihoon’s origins through other means, it wouldn’t have justified taking the boy hostage. Ransoming a captain’s son, even an Imperial Fleet Captain, would not have awarded them handsomely; whatever money Captain Lee may have set aside before his ill-fated voyage would have been distributed amongst his relatives upon his disappearance, and it’s likely not a single one of them would reach into their pockets to rescue the man’s son.

The Pirates must have had some other reason to imprison Jihoon, something Seungcheol’s missing.

Perhaps it’s lost in the torn and deliberately damaged sections of parchment, or hidden in the vague and strangely phrased way Captain refers to his found family.

* * *

It’s fully dark outside the stern windows by the time the cabin door opens behind him to admit Mingyu, bottle of whiskey dangling from one hand and two glasses from the other.

“An apology, for earlier.” His feet are anxious beneath him, his colour rising, “I…I didn’t mean to rile you up. Honest. You know I wouldn’t.”

Seungcheol shakes himself from his thoughts to observe him, wondering if he should reveal what he’s discovered or wait till he has had more time to process it himself. The choice is made for him as Mingyu gingerly sets the bottle down and immediately spots the unsealed Cryptex lying on the desk. 

“You…you unlocked it. How?”

Seungcheol shakes his head, looking away. “Not me—Jihoon. It belonged to his father.”

Mingyu’s fingers skim over the edge of the map, his brow knit in concentration as he examines the writing upside down. When he makes an aborted attempt to round the desk and study it closer, Seungcheol offers his seat, gesturing dismissively, “Go ahead. I’ve been trying to make sense of it all evening, perhaps you will have better luck.”

He perches on the edge of the desk, watching as Mingyu's eyes travel over the map, and finds that he can pinpoint the exact moment understanding dawns, Mingyu's brows drawing together and his lips thinning in a frown.

When he finishes reading, Mingyu is quiet for a long moment, and Seungcheol doesn't move to look at him. The seconds seem to stretch out to miniature eternities.

Finally, Mingyu shifts in his seat, turning so he can look at Jihoon’s sleeping form by the window, “How long do you think he was alone on that Island before Poseidon Sabre’s crew found him?”

“Too long,” Seungcheol says, staring unseeing at the cabin wall.

**Author's Note:**

> I had originally planned to upload the entire fic in one go, but alas, it mutated to over 40K. :(


End file.
